“You see, I had to be a Catholic to marry Pauline. At first I didn’t think much about it. She was the important object. But I was willing. It seemed rather a picturesque thing to do. I began after a little to get interested in my talks with the priest. Then I went to a mission for men. And I began to be unhappy. Every day I got more miserable and I lay awake half the night. But I kept it all to myself.” His lips set in a firm line.
Finch thought — “Who is he like? I see Gran’s face in his, and Renny’s, and Eden’s, and even Piers’s. He’s like all of them but me! I’ll never get nearer to him than I am now.”
Wakefield went on — “Then suddenly I found out that I wanted the religious life. Nothing but that. Nothing else would do. I consulted my priest. He was doubtful. But I knew I had a vocation. You can imagine what the family said.”
“Yes…. What I can’t imagine is what Pauline said. It must have been a shock to her.”
“That was the remarkable thing. That is what makes it all seem so divinely ordered. Almost the first thing she said to me was — ‘I sympathize more than you know. I have often thought I should like to enter a convent.’”
“She said that, did she?”
“Yes. And her look told me even more than her words. She wasn’t playing up to me. My belief is that we turned off the path we had taken at the very same moment. The same thought had been working in us both, though we were unconscious of it.”
Finch looked down at his glasses dangling between his fingers. “And you don’t regret her? I mean, you can bear the thought of never seeing her again?”
“Oh, I am sure I shall see her again. I look forward to that. But it will be different — naturally.”
“I don’t suppose there is a chance of my ever seeing her again.”
“Uncle Ernest told me that she is going to be at her mother’s sale, to help her. You might see her there. If you do, Finch, please give her my love and tell her I hope she is as happy as I am. Give my love to her mother too.”
Finch remembered the blonde, stocky woman and felt a sudden compassion for her. He felt a pang in his heart at the thought that Pauline was going from them all forever. A thin old priest came to them across the burnt grass. Wakefield introduced Finch to him and the three proceeded to join a group of other novices.
They were all natural and friendly with Finch. Wakefield must have talked a good deal of his family. They asked Finch questions about his concerts and his experience in the world of music. To Finch it seemed that Wakefield already occupied in the monastery something of the position he had had at Jalna. He seemed a favourite with the older priests.
He took Finch over the grounds. To the vegetable garden where lay brothers were working with an industry Finch had never before witnessed. He wished Piers might have seen them. He was shown over the monastery and saw Wakefield’s room. He looked at him curiously, out of his long, large-pupiled eyes.
Finch had a good tea and was extraordinarily hungry.
He stood beside Wakefield in the chapel at Benediction. The light from the stained glass windows fell across the heads and shoulders of these men withdrawn from the world. They seemed suddenly cold and aloof from him. The air was rich with incense. As he fixed his eyes on the glittering monstrance the pain in his head began again. He wanted to get away.
At the gate the brothers shook hands. Wakefield said:
“Remember, Finch, you will never be out of my thoughts. I shall always be praying for you. I have hopes that you may become a Catholic. And Renny too. I even have hope for him.”
“What about Piers?” asked Finch grimly.
Wake gave one of his old mischievous grins. “Well,” he said, “I haven’t much hope of Piers.”
XII
SALE AT THE FOX FARM
THE ATMOSPHERE of an auction sale was not a novelty at Jalna. Once a year Renny and Piers held a sale of surplus stock. The bustle in preparation for it, the actual event, the rearrangement of stables afterward, and the gratification or disappointment in the result, were a solid part of each year.
But the sale at the fox farm was different. It was still called the fox farm though the foxes had disappeared. Their wire-netted runs stood forsaken or sagged to the ground. But the little house was charming inside. Clara and Pauline had delighted in keeping it so. Now it would stand bereft, its associations torn from it like a clinging creeper. To Renny it was a black day. He would be glad when it was over and the door locked on that chamber of his life. He had done all he could to arrange for a successful sale. Now he had only to stand by and watch the familiar objects disappear one by one.
There was nothing of much value in the house. The furniture and rugs had been bought at haphazard, with regard to cheapness rather than any scheme, but Clara had, with effective walls and curtains, some pieces of family china and the pictures Lebraux had bought, when he could not afford them, given the house that air of well-being which she contrived in her material surroundings.
She and Renny stood together at one end of a table of ornaments she had arranged, while at the other Finch fingered a little china box with the figure of a shepherdess on the lid. Clara looked reflectively at his face, at his hands.
“The boy looks tired,” she said.
“He is. He has worked too hard. He’s not strong.”
Clara gave a little grunt. “I wish he had cared for Pauline, instead of Wake. He’s more stable.”
“I wish he had. Things might have been different.” Then Renny remembered Sarah. “But still — he’s got a wife who is absolutely devoted to him. Lots of money too.”
“Hm, yes. It was God’s mercy to you.”
“She’s a strange girl. I’m glad I’m not married to her. She makes me uncomfortable.”
Clara’s eyes turned from Finch to him. Her short strong features softened to tenderness. Her eyes embraced him.
Finch asked — “Was this Pauline’s?”
“Yes. Her French grandma gave it to her.”
People began to trickle into the room. The air was hot, sticky. There seemed nothing to breathe. The auctioneer’s voice could be heard from a bedroom. A woman wearing black cotton gloves with a hole in the thumb picked up the china box and peered into it. The auctioneer’s clerk came and took Clara away.
Finch muttered to himself — “If she drops that box….”
The woman said to a friend — “Cute, isn’t it? I believe I’ll buy it for Betty’s birthday.”
The room was filling up. It was insufferably close. Finch moved to Renny’s side.
“Do you think,” he asked, “that Pauline is here? Do you think she will be in — nun’s things?”
“Lord no! She’s in brown. There she is. Just by the door. She’s looking for Clara.”
Pauline stood in the doorway, childishly indecisive. She was bare-headed and her thick, dark hair, more closely cut than Finch had before seen it, hung unevenly about her ears. She looked mildly at the collection of people. Her lips parted as though she strove for a deep breath.
She saw Renny and Finch and came to them and spoke in a low, even voice.
“I’m glad you have come. Mummie and I have felt awfully confused by it all. It’s ages since I’ve seen you, Finch.” She held out her hand.
Finch took it. He said — “I saw Wakefield last week.” Then he coloured deeply, wishing he could withdraw the words. She did not seem to mind. She looked just the same only there was something a little cold, a little detached about her that was new to him. Her lips had less colour. She kept looking at Finch as though he was a shield between her and Renny.
“Has the sale begun?” asked Renny.
“Yes. In Mother’s bedroom. It’s packed with people.”
“Two-thirty — two-thirty — going at two-thirty!” came the auctioneer’s voice from above.
The people in the dining room were not interested. They settled themselves to remain where they were till the things they wanted were put up.
“Let’s get out into the air,” said Renny.
“Do you remember my pet fox?”
“Yes” answered Finch. “What became of him?”
“He died. I was terribly sorry. I cried and I cried didn’t I, Renny?”
He took her arm in his hand. “It’s all over, Pauline,” he said.
Finch moved away from the others and made as though to look for gooseberries on some neglected bushes.
Pauline raised her eyes to Renny’s face. “How I have loved you,” she said.
He looked back at her without speaking, cut to the heart. She went on breathlessly — “That is the last time a word of love shall ever pass my lips. But I had to say it. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand.”
They followed Finch who held out a few prickly berries. They each took one as though it were some sort of rite. The fruit was sour on their lips and the prickles stung them.
After a little they returned to the house and Pauline and Clara shut themselves up in a small, empty room, sitting on two boxes to wait the end of the sale.
When the auctioneer reached the dining room the bidding slackened. The bedroom furniture had gone well, but the furniture of the dining room was almost given away. Finch bought the china box and Renny the brass coffee table across which Clara and he had so often discussed their plans.
He became more and more depressed. The things were going for nothing. He towered above the group straggling about the dining room. He had a picture in his mind of himself and Clara, Wakefield and Pauline, dancing through these rooms. The gramophone to which they had danced was almost given away. Now a walnut cabinet was being offered.
He nudged Finch in the ribs. “Buy it,” he urged, “buy it for yourself! You’ll be needing some furniture.”
Finch flew into a panic.
“B-b-but what should I do with it?”
“I’ll keep it for you. As long as you like. Hurry up! Don’t let it get away from you!”
Finch, scarlet, nodded to the auctioneer. New life was put into the bidding. He got the cabinet, two chairs, and a chesterfield.
“You’ll be needing just such things one day,” urged Renny. “You’ll never have another chance like this.”
“But Sarah will hate these things.”
“No she won’t. She can’t. They’d look well if they were re-upholstered. You’ll never have another chance like this.”
Renny bought a large watercolour of the rocky shore of the Saguenay, a bookcase full of books, and a little cabinet with a fragile tea set in it. By the time this was done he was in a state of exhilarated good humour and Finch in one of resigned depression.
What had he done? What would he do with these things he had acquired? The close atmosphere of the house made him sick. The hands of the village women pawing the curtains and clutching feather pillows made him sick. He had a mad desire to run after Pauline, to hammer on the door of the room and shout to her that she must come away with him and find peace somewhere. Renny stood beside him, leading that charmed secure life of his. Finch thought — “He is as tough as steel. If only I had a face like his I could look into other faces without flinching. It’s strange to think how all these people packed in here have no pain in the head.”
Renny said — “Let’s go and speak to Clara before we go.”
Finch followed him to the door of the unfurnished room and Clara answered their knock. She had a piece of bread and butter in her hand and there was a smudge on her cheek. Pauline sat on an upturned box, her back to the door.
“It’s nearly over,” said Renny. “It’s gone very well. This young man bought quite a lot.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” answered Clara.
Finch could see Pauline’s hands clasped on her lap.
XIII
THE END OF ENDURANCE
ONE OF PIERS’S farm wagons drawn by two bay geldings brought to Jalna the things Renny and Finch had bought at the sale. Not to the house itself but to an empty cottage on the estate known as Fiddler’s Hut. Piers lounged by the door as the furniture was carried in, smiling sardonically. Renny stood filling his pipe and trying to look unembarrassed.
Piers remarked — “You say young Finch bought all this stuff of his own accord?”
“Why not? He will be needing furniture.”
“Not this sort.”
“How the hell do you know what he’ll need!”
“No use in being irritable. I just marvel at him.”
“Don’t speak of it to Sarah — not yet.”
“So, it’s to be a surprise for her? Birthday, or something?”
“Well — he should be allowed to tell her of it himself.”
“Didn’t you buy anything?”
“That black cabinet. And the bookcase and picture.”
Piers bent his knees in front of the bookcase and ran his eyes over the titles of the books. His silence expressed tolerant amusement.
The couch refused to go in at the door.
“Could you keep it for Finch?” asked Renny, almost pleadingly.
“Not possibly. Our rooms are full.” Still squatting he raised his eyes to Renny’s face and said — “Finch doesn’t imagine surely that he can hide this junk —”
“It isn’t junk!”
“It’s junk as far as Finch is concerned. Maurice was at the sale. I saw him look in just as the chairs were knocked down to Finch. I saw him afterward talking to Uncle Ernest in the yard. You and Finch are pretty sanguine.”
“I’m not concealing anything. The things I bought are going to my room.”
Piers said thoughtfully — “You’re taking a good deal of trouble, aren’t you, to make things worse between you and Alayne?”
Renny returned sombrely — “Nothing I can do matters one way or the other.”
Piers took a book from the case, rose, and opened it. Then he muttered — “Everything matters — when two people are trying to live together.”
“We’re not,” Renny answered harshly.
He had the furniture reloaded on the wagon and taken to the house. What Finch had bought was carried to an already overcrowded box-room in the attic and the cabinet, tea set, and bookcase set up in his own room. By the time this was accomplished, every member of the family knew what was going on. Ernest and Nicholas added their bulk to the room. Sarah and Alayne stood in the passage looking in. Renny affected not to notice their presence. He placed the anemic-looking tea set in the cabinet with hands more accustomed to the handling of horses.
After a little Alayne turned away and went into her own room. Sarah followed her and asked, in her sweet impersonal voice:
“Why did they do it?”
Alayne answered abruptly, out of set lips:
“Don’t ask me! Just be thankful, Sarah, that those two women are out of the way before your marriage is wrecked.”
“Was the daughter after Finch?” asked Sarah.
“They’re utterly unscrupulous!”
“Was it the mother, perhaps?”
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“I say only this — be thankful they’re going.”
Alayne was losing control of herself. Her outrage would not be kept in durance. It raged and sickened her. To see him handling those cheap, fragile cups … those books, now to be kept by his bedside!
She went to her desk and bent over an unfinished letter to her aunt. She said:
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I must finish this letter for the post.” She bent close to the writing as though she were short-sighted.
Sarah thought — “If only I could get out of her what all this is about! How fascinating Finch is with his strange moods! How wonderful life is!” She glanced at herself in the mirror, patting the convolutions of her sleek braids.
As she went out, Adeline passed her coming in. She was carrying a box of small lead toys and when she reached the middle of the room she emptied them to the floor with a clatter. Alayne had not seen he
r come in. She sprang from her desk, terrified.
“Oh,” she gasped, “what are you doing? You can’t have those in here.”
“I can,” said Adeline. “I’ve just bought them at a sale. I want them in my room.”
“Adeline, pick them up at once and take them out!”
“I won’t!”
“You shall!”
Adeline began to kick the toys in all directions. Alayne caught her by both arms and held her rigid. Adeline began to dance with rage. Alayne pressed her fingers into the child’s flesh. Adeline struck at her face and kicked her. Her screams were piercing.
Nicholas stood in the doorway.
“My, my, my,” he said, “this is awful. What has angered her so, Alayne?”
“Take her,” said Alayne. “Take her away. I can’t stand any more.”
Nicholas took the child in his large calm hands and laid her against his shoulder. Her screams became sobs and she clasped her arms about his neck.
He carried her to his room and Renny now appeared in the doorway. Alayne thought — “It is like a play…. They come one after another to the door…. All bringing more suffering to me…. I can’t bear any more.”
Renny said — “It seems strange that you can’t get on with your own child for five minutes at a time. Why should you make her suffer for your anger against me?”
“Her suffer! Her suffer!” repeated Alayne. “And I was just thinking — no one cares about my suffering — please go away and leave me.”
He said, trying to calm her — “Now look here, Alayne, there’s no sense in your getting upset about my buying those few things at the sale. As a matter of fact, they’re things I always liked and I didn’t want to see them just given away.”
She turned her tortured face on him.
“No — you didn’t want anyone else to have them! You wanted them near you. You wanted them in your own room by your bed. When have you bought anything new for the house? Tell me that. When have I bought anything new that you didn’t object? Tell me that. You’ve always said that the house was overcrowded already. Yes — it is overcrowded! And I am the one too many!”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 340